To Miki it seemed as though
they had come suddenly out of day into the gloom of evening. That part of the
forest into which Neewa's flight had led them was like a vast, mysterious
cavern. Even Challoner would have paused there, awed by the grandeur of its
silence, held spellbound by the enig­matical whispers that made up its only
sound. The sun was still high in the heavens, but not a ray of it penetrated
the dense green canopy of spruce and balsam that hung like a wall over the
heads of Miki and Neewa. About them was no bush, no under­growth; under their
feet was not a flower or a spearof grass. Nothing but a thick, soft
carpet of velvety brown needles under which all life was smothered. It was as
if the forest nymphs had made of this theirbedchamber, sheltered through all the
seasons of the year from wind and rain and snow; or else that the were-wolf
people – the loup-garou – had chosen it as their hiding-place and from
its weird and gloomy fastnesses went forth on their ghostly missions among the
sons of men.

Not a bird twittered in the
trees. There was no flutter of life in their crowded branches. Everything was
so still that Miki heard the excited throbbing of life in his own body. He
looked at Neewa, and in the gloom the cub's eyes were glistening with a strange
fire. Neither of them was afraid, yet in that cavernous silence their
comradeship was born anew, and in it there was something now that crept down
into their wild little souls and filled the emptiness that was left by the
death of Neewa's mother and the loss of Miki's master. The pup whined gently,
and in his throat Neewa made a purring sound and followed it with a squeaky
grunt that was like the grunt of a little pig. They edged nearer, and stood
shoulder to shoulder facing their world. They went on after a little, like two
children exploring the mystery of an old and abandoned house. They were not hunting,
yet every hunting instinct in their bodies was awake, and they stopped
frequently to peer about them, and listen, and scent the air.

To Neewa it all brought back
a memory of the black cavern in which he was born. Would Noozak, his mother,
come up presently out of one of those dark forest aisles? Was she sleeping
here, as she had slept in the darkness of their den? The questions may have
come vaguely in his mind. For it was like the cavern, in that it was deathly
still; and a short distance away its gloom thickened into black pits. Such a
place the Indians called muhnedoo – aspot in the forest blasted of all life by the presence of devils; for only
devils would grow trees so thick that sun­light never penetrated. And only owls
held the companionship of the evil spirits.

Where Neewa and Miki stood a
grown wolf would have paused, and turned back; the fox would have slunk away,
hugging the ground; even the murderous­hearted little ermine would have peered
in with his beady red eyes, unafraid, but turned by instinct back into the open
timber. For here, in spite of the stillness and the gloom, there was life. It was beating and waiting in the ambush of those
black pits. It was rousing itself, even as Neewa and Miki went on deeper into
the silence, and eyes that were like round balls were beginning to glow with a
greenish fire. Still there was no sound, no movement in the dense overgrowth of
the trees. Like the imps of muhnedoo the
monster owls looked down, gathering their slow wits – and waiting.

And then a huge shadow
floated out of the dark chaos and passed so close over the heads of Neewa and
Miki that they heard the menacing purr of giant wings. As the wraith-like
creature disappeared there came back to them a hiss and the grating snap of a
powerful beak. It sent a shiver through Miki. The instinct that had been
fighting to rouse itself within him flared up like a powder-flash. Instantly,
he sensed the nearness of an unknown and appalling danger.

There was sound about them
now-movement in the trees, ghostly tremours in the air, and the crack­ling,
metallic snap-snap-snap over their
heads. Again Miki saw the great shadow come and go. It was followed by a
second, and a third, until the vault under the trees seemed filled with
shadows; and with each shadow came nearer that grating menace of powerfully
beaked jaws. Like the wolf and the fox he cringed down, hugging the earth. But
it was no longer with the whimpering fear of the pup. His muscles were drawn
tight, and with a snarl he bared his fangs when one of the owls swooped so low
that he felt the beat of its wings. Neewa responded with a sniff that a little
later in his life would have been the defiant whoof of his mother. Bear-like he was stand­ing up. And it was upon
him that one of the shadows descended – a monstrous feathered bolt straight out
of darkness.

Six feet a way Miki's
blazing eyes saw his comrade smothered under a gray mass, and for a moment or
two he was held appalled and lifeless by the thunder­ous beat of the gargantuan
wings. No sound came from Neewa. Flung on his back, he was digging his claws
into feathers so thick and soft that they seemed to have no heart or flesh. He
felt upon him the presence of the Thing that was death. The beat of the wings
was like the beat of clubs: they drove the breath out of his body, they blinded
his senses, yet he continued to tear fiercely with his claws into a fleshless
breast.

In his first savage swoop
Oohoomisew, whose great wings measured five feet from tip to tip, had missed
his death-grip by the fraction of an inch. His powerful talons that would have
buried themselves like knives in Neewa's vitals closed too soon, and were
filled with the cub's thick hair and loose hide. Now he was beating his prey
down with his wings until the right moment came for him to finish the killing
with the terrific stabbing of his beak. Half a minute of that and Neewa's face
would be torn into pieces.

It was the fact that Neewa
made no sound, that no cry came from him, that brought Miki to his feet with
his lips drawn back and a snarl in his throat. All at once fear went out of him
and in its place came a wild and almost joyous exultation. He recognized their
enemy – abird. To him birds
were a prey, and not a menace. A dozen times in their journey down from the
Upper Country Challoner had shot big Canada geese and huge-winged cranes. Miki.
had eaten their flesh. Twice he had pursued wounded cranes, yapping at the top
of his voice, and they had run from him. He
did not bark or yelp now. Like a flash he launched himself into the feathered
mass of the owl. His fourteen pounds of flesh and bone landed with the force of
a stone, and Oohoomisew was torn from his hold and flung with a great flutter
of wings upon his side.

Before he could recover his
balance Miki was at him again, striking full at his head, where he had struck
at the wounded crane. Oohoomisew went flat on his back and for the first time
Miki let out of his throat a series of savage and snarl­ing yelps. It was a new
sound to Oohoomisew and his blood-thirsty brethren watching the struggle from
out of the gloom. The snapping beaks drifted farther away, and Oohoomisew, with
a sudden sweep of wings, vaulted into the air.

With his big forefeet
planted firmly and his snarl­ing face turned up to the black wall of the
tree-tops Miki continued to bark and howl defiantly. He wanted the bird to come
back. He wanted to tear and rip at its feathers, and as he sent out his frantic
challenge Neewa rolled over, got on his feet and with a warning squeal to Miki
once more set off in flight. If Miki was ignorant in the matter, he at least under­stood the situation.
Again it was the instinct born of countless generations. He knew that in the
black pits about them hovered death – and he ran as he had never run before in
his life. As Miki followed, the shadows were beginning to float nearer again.
Ahead of them they saw a glimmer of sunshine.

The trees grew taller, and
soon the day began break- ing through so that there were no longer the
cavernous hollows of gloom about them. If they had gone on another hundred
yards they would have come to the edge of the big plain, the hunting grounds of
the owls. But the flame of self-preservation was hot in Neewa's head; he was
still dazed by the thunder­ous beat of wings; his sides burned where
Oohoomisew's talons had scarred his flesh; so, when he saw in his path a
tangled windfall of tree trunks he dived into the security of it so swiftly
that for a moment or two Miki wondered where he had gone.

Crawling into the windfall
after him Miki turned and poked out his head. He was not satisfied. His lips
were still drawn back, and he continued to growl. He had beaten his enemy. He
had knocked it over fairly, and had filled his jaws with its feathers. In the
face of that triumph he sensed the fact that he had run away in following
Neewa, and he was pos­sessed with the desire to go back and have it out to a
finish. It was the blood of the Airedale and the Spitz growing stronger in him,
fearless of defeat; the blood of his father, the giant hunting-hound Hela. It
was the demand of his breed, with its mixture of wolfish courage and fox-like
persistency – backed by the powerful jaws and Herculean strength of the
Mackenzie hound, and if Neewa had not drawn deeper under the windfall he would
have gone out again and yelped his challenge to the feathered things from which
they had fled.

Neewa was smarting under the
red-hot stab of Oohoomisew's talons, and he wanted no more of the fight that
came out of the air. He began licking his wounds, and after a while Miki went
back to him and smelled of the fresh, warm blood. It made him growl. He knew
that it was Neewa's blood, and his eyes glowed like twin balls of fire as they
watched the opening through which they had entered into the dark tangle of
fallen trees.

For an hour he did not move,
and in that hour, as in the hour after the killing of the rabbit, he grew. When
at last he crept out cautiously from under the windfall the sun was sinking
behind the western forests. He peered about him, watching for move­ment and
listening for sound. The sagging and apologetic posture of puppyhood was gone
from him. His overgrown feet stood squarely on the ground;his angular legs were as hard as if carven
out of knotty wood; his body was tense, his ears stood up, his head was rigidly
set between the bony shoulders that already gave evidence of gigantic strength
to come. About him he knew was the Big Adventure. The world was no longer a
world of play and of snug­gling under the hands of a master. Something vastly
more thrilling had come into it now.

After a time he dropped on his belly close to the
opening under the windfall and began chewing at the end of rope which dragged
from about his neck. The sun sank lower. It disappeared. Still he waited for
Neewa to come out and lie with him in the open. As the twilight thickened into
deeper gloom he drew himself into the edge of the door under the windfall and
found Neewa there. Together they peered forth into the mysterious night.

For a time there was the
utter stillness of the first hour of darkness in the northland. Up in the clear
sky the stars came out in twos and then in glowingconstellations. There was an early moon. It was already over the
edge of the forests, flooding the world with a golden glow, and in that glow
the night was filled with grotesque black shadows that had neither movement nor
sound. Then the silence was broken. From out of the owl-infested came a strange
and hollow sound. Miki had heard the shrill screeching and the tu-who-o-o,
tu-who-o-o, tu-who-o-o of the little owls, the trap-pirates, but never this
voice of the strong-winged Jezebels and Frankensteins of the deeper forests –
the real butch­ers of the night. It was a hollow, throaty sound­ – more a moan
than a cry; a moan so short and low that it seemed born of caution, or of fear
that it, would frighten possible prey. For a few minutes pit after pit gave
forth each its signal of life, and then there was a silence of voice, broken at
inter­vals by the faint, crashing sweep of great wings in the spruce and balsam
tops as the hunters launched themselves up and over them in the direction of
the plain.

The going forth of the owls
was only the begin­ning of the night carnival for Neewa and Miki. For a long
time they lay side by side, sleepless, and listen­ing. Past the windfall went
the padded feet of a fisher-cat, and they caught the scent of it; to them came
the far cry of a loon, the yapping of a restless fox, and the mooing of
a cow moose feeding in the edge of a lake on the farther side of the plain. And
then, at last, came the thing that made their blood ran faster and sent a
deeper thrill into their hearts.

It seemed a vast distance
away at first – the hot. throated cry of wolves on the trail of meat. It was
swinging northward into the plain, and this shortly brought the cry with the
wind, which was out of the north and the west. The howling of the pack was very
distinct after that, and in Miki's brain nebu­lous visions and almost
unintelligible memories were swiftly wakening into life. It was not Challoner's
voice that he heard, but it was a voice
that he knew. It was the voice of Hela, his giant father; the voice of
Numa, his mother; the voice of his kind for a hundred and a thousand
generations before him, and it was the instinct of those generations and the
hazy, memory of his earliest puppyhood that were imping­ing the thing upon him.
A little later it would take both intelligence and experience to make him dis­criminate
the hair-breadth difference between wolf and dog. And this voice of his blood
was coming! It bore down upon them swiftly, fierce and filled with the
blood-lust of hunger. He forgot Neewa. He did not observe the cub when he slunk
back deeper under the windfall. He rose up on his feet and stood stiff and
tense, unconscious of all things but that thrilling tongue of the hunt-pack.
Wind-broken, his strength failing him, and his eyes wildly searching the night
ahead for the gleam of water that might save him, Ahtik, the young caribou
bull, raced for his life a hundred yards ahead of the wolves. The pack had
already flung itself out in the form of a horse-shoe, and the two ends were
beginning to creep up abreast of Ahtik, ready to close in for the hamstring –
and the kill. In these last minutes every throat was silent, and the young bull
sensed the beginning of the end. Desperately he turned to the right and plunged
into the forest Miki heard the crash of his body and he hugged close to the
windfall. Ten seconds later Ahtik pas­sed within fifty feet of him, a huge and
grotesque form in the moonlight, his coughing breath filled with the agony and
hopelessness of approaching death. As swiftly as he had come he was gone, and
in his place followed half a score of noiseless shadows passing so quickly that
to Miki they were like the coming and the going of the wind.

For many minutes after that
he stood and listened but again silence had fallen upon the night. After a
little he went back into the windfall and lay down beside Neewa.

Hours that followed he
passed in restless snatches of slumber. He dreamed of things that he had for­gotten.
He dreamed of Challoner. He dreamed of chill nights and the big fires; he heard
his master's voice and he felt again the touch of his hand; but over it all and
through it all ran that wild hunting voice of his own kind.

In the early dawn he came
out from under the wind­fall and smelled of the trail where the wolves and the
caribou had passed. Heretofore it was Neewa who had led in their wandering; now
it was Neewa that followed. His nostrils filled with the heavy scent of the
pack, Miki travelled steadily in the direction of the plain. It took him half
an hour to reach the edge of it. After that he came to a wide and stony
out-cropping of the earth over which he nosed the spoor to a low and abrupt
descent into the wider range of the valley.

Here he stopped.

Twenty feet under him and
fifty feet away lay the partly devoured carcass of the young bull. It was not
this fact that thrilled him until his heart stood still. From out of the bushy
plain had come Mahee­gun, a renegade she-wolf, to fill herself of the meat
which she had not helped to kill. She was a slinking, hollow-backed,
quick-fanged creature, still rib-thin from the sickness that had come of eating
a poison. bait; a beast shunned by her own kind – a coward, a murderess even of
her own whelps. But she was none of these things to Miki. In her he saw in
living flesh and bone what his memory and his instinct recalled to him of his
mother. And his mother had come before Challoner, his master.

For a minute or two he lay
trembling, and then he went down, as he would have gone to Challoner; with
great caution, with a wilder suspense, but with a strange yearning within him
that the man's pres­ence would have failed to rouse. He was very close to
Maheegun before she was conscious that he was near. The Mother-smell was warm
in his nose now; it filled him with a great joy; and yet – he was afraid. But
it was not a physical fear. Flattened on the ground, with his head between his
fore-paws, he whined.

Like a flash the she-wolf
turned, her fangs bared the length of her jaws and her bloodshot eyes aglow
with menace and suspicion. Miki had no time to make a move or another sound.
With the sudden­ness of a cat the outcast creature was upon him. Her fangs
slashed him just once – and she was gone. Her teeth had drawn blood from his
shoulder, but it was not the smart of the wound that held him for many moments
as still as if dead. The mother­-smell was still where Maheegun had been. But
his dreams had crumbled. The thing that had been Memory died away at last in a
deep breath that was broken by a whimper of pain. For him, even as for Neewa,
there was no more a Challoner, and no longer a mother. But there remained – the
world! In it the sun was rising. Out of it came the thrill and the perfume of
life. And close to him – very close – was the rich, sweet smell of meat.

He sniffed hungrily. Then he
turned, and saw Neewa's black and pudgy body tumbling down the slope of the dip
to join him in the feast.